![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
falloutkinkmeme_backupWelcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.
- Fallout Kink Meme posting guidelines
- Read something? Love something? No matter how old the story is, please let our amazing authors and artists know that you enjoyed their work with a nice comment, and share the love by recommending your favorite fills!
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4b
Date: 2013-03-14 05:00 pm (UTC)She signaled him to follow her into the shadows and he did so without a word, which did nothing for the growing unease between them. There was a large patch of Cloud ahead and they could use it as cover until the Ghost People shuffled off to the other end of the building. They rushed through it as fast as they could, balancing trying not to get noticed and not die of poisoning.
Sticking to the wall they crawled along the buildings, always some distance behind the locals who seemed insistent to follow the same path the two of them were heading. Maybe this was the same pack that had tried to corner them in the café. If so, it was good they weren’t persistent enough to have tried and enter through the other entrance.
She constantly kept checking her pip-boy for location. The marker showed they were very close but with twisting streets and more often than not barred doors, finding that path proved more and more frustrating. One would think that it would be accessible from the top but not all roofs were connecting in such a way that would allow them to cross safely, while on the other end, some of the Villa’s balconies have collapsed blocking otherwise direct passageways. She understood now what those messages about Sinclair ignoring all the construction that didn’t involve his darling casino meant. Not even the Cloud, with its strange capacity, could preserve shoddy construction and keep the walls ‘glued with spit’ upright.
“According to this, your spot has to be one of these roofs,” she said zooming in and out her map and turned to the ghoul who was, quite nonchalantly, smoking a cigar with one hand in his pocket –a commercial picture of someone feeling right at home in this place. That alone should be enough to produce ice in anyone’s stomach. “Do you know of any building with an intact staircase, or a ramp or anything that would get us up?”
There was no answer.
“Dean?” She called, fine flat line of her patience not wavering.
“I don’t frequent Puesta del Sol much. As in, at all.” He paused, drawing in smoke like some kind of dragon, and looking over the seemingly empty street. And he knew, as well as she had learned, that standing around idly could only end badly for them. Despite that, he continued leisurely, “I do, however, remember an explosion from a few decades back. A couple of tourists took a wrong turn and headed straight from the front gate here.” His voice had this tone of boredom but it was a ruse, he positively delighted in dispensing these little bits of wisdom and experience. “They were well equipped, for people who crawled out of the wastes, and have blasted through half the town before the dust settled. They died, of course, but the distraction did allow me a clear way to… well, quite a few places actually. They managed to hold against the Ghost People all night, you see.”
“Good on them,” she clicked her tongue. Arrogant ass had to turn something simple as asking for directions into performance and an act of groveling at his feet. “And could you tell me where this explosion might have happened?”
He paused, taking a long, languid drag, letting smoke curl and mix with red cloud. It was the type of pause the Courier herself had on occasion inflicted upon others – although never in combination of a bomb strapped to their throats.
He looked around slowly, taking in the scenery, drinking in the atmosphere. His eyes stuck to the old wooden terraces and perilously dangling blinds that would have fallen off long ago had it not been for the Cloud.
“If I ever had to come here I stuck to the overhangs and roofs – like sidewalks up here.”
“Yes, they’ve certainly been helpful so far,” she answered slowly, a measured response while dancing around gunpowder encrusted eggshells.
“The ghosts don’t crawl up there much and it has a clear view. Clear enough, anyway,” he continued, paying not the slightest bit of attention to her.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c
Date: 2013-03-14 05:01 pm (UTC)He pointed, to a wall tucked in between constricted streets and a row of archways, thick, red fog clogged the path... “Through there,” …and a narrow but still decently man sized hole at the end of it.
“Thank you…”she said, properly, tightly, squeezed it through her teeth if one had a good ear, and quickly turned on her heel. That he riled her up wasn’t what bothered her. That he managed to rile her up and so obviously intended to do it from the very start, did. The question of what she had done to rile him up, was steadily becoming paramount. She needed to avoid any confrontation so long as this bomb was hanging around her neck. Once those were off, all bets would be off along with them.
They had to reach the second floor and path up was obstructed by only a few traps and before few minutes passed they were out in the open once more. Elijah’s unmistakable voice came soon through her pip-boy.
:You’re at the Ghoul’s Gala are… now make him stay.:
“So this is where I’m supposed to put on a show? Played at better venues, let me tell you.” Both of them walked over to a single cable stretching across the rooftop. A lone spark pranced on one end of the torn cable. “What is that there… wiring? Looks… looks like it’s tied to the sound system in the Villa, except that snipped section.”
Nurse passing the scalpel indeed. The girl sighed and pushed the helmet up a bit to rub her eyes. Elijah was going to kill them all at this rate.
“So… what, I stand here, hold the two ends in my hands and tap them together like cymbals?” She heard him call behind her, sneer and anger wrapped in one package.
“If re-connecting the speaker system is part of the Gala Event, yes,” she turned pulling the visor down.
“Look…” he gestured wide at the rooftops, the area around them and his usually so controlled voice cracked just a notch with panic welling up at the possibilities. “I strike up the speaker system, there’s going to be ghosts all over this place. Any change in the sounds around here… the Ghost People are not big on talking, they are big on listening. Hunting. Killing. More vicious than music critics, trust me.”
“All right, what’s it going to take?”
“Take?” He repeated insulted, as if she was offering his some meager penny for one of his most prized, most expensive shows. “It’s not going to take anything because you couldn’t offer me anything to stay here. The Ghost People’ll come out of the woodwork when the Gala Event starts blaring, and when they see me trapped up here? It’s curtains for Dean.”
Or they might lose their appetite at the mere sight of him and go back to the holes they crawled out from, was her line of thought. Figuring he wouldn’t appreciate her views, she kept them to herself.
“We’ll set traps and hunt down those that are around. Will that make you feel safer?”
“No, you want to know why? Because there’s more beneath the streets, in the buildings, and oh – everywhere else.” He flared crossing his arms in pure defiance – or in fear at the mere thought of staying here alone for prolonged periods of time. “Listen, you could offer me a steel clad contract for a world tour for all the major cities with Imperial Records and I still wouldn’t stay here!”
The Courier turned away from Dean’s fume and spit and old world references she couldn’t quite decipher, and looked over the expense of the district. Fog of rust rubbed against them as it did against the buildings, slowly, languidly, like a perverse lover clutching and never letting go. It had blocked most of their view but from what little the Cloud allowed them to see she came to one conclusion, “I sense an awful lot of backtracking in the near future.”
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c
Date: 2013-03-15 03:29 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c
Date: 2013-03-16 03:41 pm (UTC)And DEAN! God, your Dean is perfect beyond reason. You really have him down, and wow, your descriptions. They're incredible. The imagery you conjour up, the character's little reactions to one another and their environment - it's fantastic. I am seriously enjoying this and I check a couple of times each day for an update xD And when I find one, everything else gets put on hold.
So thank you very much for writing this! I can't wait to see what happens next, but at the same time I'm happy to, because every update is - somehow - better than the last, and that's definitely worth waiting for.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c
Date: 2013-03-20 08:19 am (UTC)I wasn't sure how the story would go down seeing how it's a very slow buildup and still has places to go, or may even stir in a different direction than expected :/ But Madre is also my favorite DLC so I am trying to shove as much of atmosphere as I can into text.
I can't vouch how fast the updates will get in the near future since I'm somewhat obsessed with details, how the situations play out and so on. So a fair warning there.
Thank you all and I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story. And Dean! You should especially enjoy Dean!
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5a
Date: 2013-03-20 08:09 am (UTC)By this point the Courier couldn’t imagine how God or Christine would be able to cause more running around and pleasing and compromising to stay in one spot, when compared to the old singer. Even with her inquisitive need to know and learn how, why and what for – which was the reason she now had a bomb collar around her neck and cursed herself repeatedly still for not preparing better when she knew that Elijah had carried away a truckload of these from Big MT – she couldn’t think of any other reason why she would try to boot-up an ancient terminal in place where being stationary for extended period of time spelled death otherwise.
So here they were. At the broken down terminal that controlled the holograms. And all he could do was smoke. He’d like to find something to drink too, but he believed it was important to keep a clear mind right now. His eyes kept turning to the window and a perimeter of explosives he had set up while she worked.
Dean sighed. Then, he had another cigar. And once more, he sighed, this time – loudly.
“How much longer is it going to take?”
“You know you could have just stayed on the roof and waited for me to light the security up,” she called from behind the desk. It was followed by a clink of metal and a sound of terminal trying to establish connection, failing to do so and fizzling out. Also, there was another muffled curse worthy of a suburban taxi driver.
“Yeah, and what a prime position it is to get cornered in. Ghost People swarming in on all sides across roofs, the only way down blocked… Marvelous prospect. No, thank you.”
She let out something that sounded like a strangled snort. The ghoul was paranoid beyond reason. Granted, he had a very good reason to fuel all that paranoia, still… she had never expected her patience to be tried so thoroughly the way it was now. Strolling through Caesar’s camp, in full view of raping marauders, wasn’t as trying. Well, that’s a lie. Partly. It wasn’t as trying because she was well aware that the so-called legionaries couldn’t touch her at the time. Those trained attack dogs wouldn’t dare wag their tails without the great Caesar’s permission.
With loud sound of terminal finally powering up, she stopped reminiscing and stood up, helmet back in place naturally, rounded to stand in front of the screen. Just because the power was back on didn’t mean that the connections between the holo-emitter, the terminal or even the software for security hologram had survived.
“There weren’t any close to the building. Or that rooftop. I’d notice,” she dusted off her hands across her pants finally.
Oh, she’d notice, would she? This high-minded, self-entitled tourist… All wrapped up in that riot armor, thinking she is some kind of expert on the local fauna after surviving a couple of days in the Villa, when he had survived for decades! Decades! And wearing a tuxedo, no less. Now, that is called surviving with style!
“I’m surprised you can notice where you’re stepping with that thing on,” he gestured derisively at the, at this point, highly annoying black helmet which she had staunchly refused to remove to date. She did it only to aggravate him, no doubt about it.
So quickly she turned, walked – no, sauntered over him in such a single fluid motion that for a moment Dean believed she would slip into his lap. And there was a part of him that didn’t mind the idea in the slightest. In fact, that insufferable, starved part of him he had long since put in the fridge, had optimally prepared for it. Welcomed it! After all, when was the last time he had a decent pair of legs within arm’s reach? Well, there was Vera’s hologram, but there was only so much he could do with a collection of photons.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5b
Date: 2013-03-20 08:10 am (UTC)“I wear protective gear. You wear these,” her finger was quick and flicked lightly across the bridge of his sunglasses. It surprised him and he hit the back of his head against the wall behind. Not much, it didn’t hurt… and he immediately pulled upright once he realized that he had backpedaled from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice, or pretended not to as was Dean’s conclusion, and had returned to trying to repair the machine.
He sneered at how nauseating it was. Dean Domino did not backpedal. He might make a tactical retreat or use the long way around, but he did not balk like a frightened schoolgirl. And what possessed her to constantly intrude upon his personal space bubble?! He felt ill prepared for this; which was absurd because Dean Domino had once been the master of the game – on top of it! Sierra Madre wasn’t kind on his looks, now it looked like his ability to charm was affected as well.
His head turned to the sound of familiar loud hissing and a thick metal clang coming from the outside. By the sound of it, it had to be the furthest one out. She had reset the bear-traps all the way up to the collapsed wall and Dean suspected that one of the Ghost People had walked right into one. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the rest to keep their distance. Unless they knew how to dismantle them. There was always that little worm of doubt, nagging, questioning… Making him wonder what exactly did the Ghost People know to do. Still, there was always a second line of explosive defense.
“They are crawling back on the streets out there. Your tinkering had better work, postman, or no hologram will be able to save us.”
“I have a name, singer,” she called from the table, her voice sapped in patience as she didn’t want the bother of correcting him. Courier, postman… how would the ghoul stuck in a desert resort for 200 years know the difference in the new world? Couriers did more than just deliver mail.
“Not one for introductions, then. Manners must have gone the way of the bombs.” Deep sarcasm was punctuated by him dragging in smoke of his cigar.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Me? I introduced myself when we first met. I cannot say the opposite happened.”
‘No you didn’t,’ she corrected him silently. Elijah had given her his name. “Guilty.”
“You certainly are.”
She paused, lips pressed into a thin line under that helmet. “…That’s my name.”
Silence stretched like an old world rubber, only to be punctured by a cough and a puff of smoke. “Pardon?”
She let out a sigh. It was a bad idea to tell him. There was a snigger behind her. The type of snigger that had a snigger all of its own. A capricious sound of superiority which could only be accredited to Dean Domino. Hell, he might own a patent of it.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” More silence, as she was determent not to react. There was no point to it. After all, this was not the first time her name had run into this kind of reception. Dean snorted a twisted laugh. “Well, I wasn’t far off the mark when I said your Ma thought you to be something special.”
“I guess you weren’t. Then again, being a ghoul she had the time to cultivate intuition.”
A swift click of a jaw. As predicted, the comment made him snap shut, and the moment stretched into a lengthy silence. It allowed her to work in peace for once. Hacking through the system which was on the verge of collapsing, she mulled over choking strangeness of Sierra Madre and individuals she was forced to team up with. Big MT made her feel excitement and tantalizing fear at every turn, every facility a playground to be explored; Sierra Madre made her fight for each breath and minute of her life. It might be equally enticing in some masochistic way… but, there was no Sink here to return to, to rest her feet and to let the chatting of its inhabitants lull her to sleep.
“How did that work exactly?”
Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity got the better of him.
“How did what work?”
“Ghoul. Being your mother. I can’t imagine many family traits being passed down-…”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-03-20 08:11 am (UTC)It was a little sad, not knowing what you were.
“She ran an orphanage,” the Courier said finally.
A genuine ‘Oh’ was the only answer she got and when she saw he was not going to comment further on it, out of embarrassment or some other reason, she continued her repairs. Bright command suddenly flashed on the screen before her bringing her back from her weary thoughts – ‘Activate Hologram’.
When she finally reached the backup systems she grumbled with dissatisfaction. “Perfect. This terminal controls only one of the things.”
“Well, then you better hope that the other one is in working order,” he stated casually – as of course, he would not be the one to do any fixing, his voice clear and close to her ear, and she realized that Dean was practically leaning over her shoulder.
“I’m not that lucky,” she breathed deeply picking up her rifle as he pulled back and they prepared to head out once more. “Stay close.”
“Like dancing with your shadow.” Puff of smoke covered his face like a stage mask as they descended into lightless corridors.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-03-25 01:02 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-03-25 09:04 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-04-01 03:22 am (UTC)Just a friendly reminder that critique isn't really the point of this kink meme. If an author has asked for critique then that's fine, but honestly, we're just after lots of stories contributed by everyone without having to worry about meeting some arbitrary standard of technical proficiency.
If folks want to help people out with their writing, or want help with their own writing, there's a critique thread that's getting covered in dust - http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2480.html
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-04-01 03:09 pm (UTC)Really digging the fill, keep it up!
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c
Date: 2013-03-25 08:48 am (UTC)F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6a
Date: 2013-04-04 06:00 pm (UTC)This chapter took me a while mostly because Dean's acting difficult in the next two, so I had to slow down. Anyway, on with the story and I'll try to keep grammar mistakes to a minimum.
***
Their way down was not as fortunate as the time they were first looking for this building. Uncharacteristically, or perhaps they have sensed that something was going on, the Ghost People waited for them, silent and still, avoiding traps and laying an ambush. To her surprise, it was Dean who pulled her out of the way of spears and a gas bomb flying past her head. It exploded, deafening both of them and lighting the street, making the Cloud swirl as the flames gobbled on it.
They landed behind the pile mixed of crushed building blocks and old furniture, his arm inexplicably finding its way around her waist as he kept her down. Whooshing sound of spears flying over their heads, clangs as they hit the ruble the two used as cover or just narrowly missing the a face trying to ascertain how bad the situation was for them, was just some on the list of things gone horribly wrong.
“‘There are none near the building,’ she says,” the ghoul mocked and the only thing Courier could do, beyond ignoring his biting words, was pull out sever stacks of dynamite and throw it to him. He looked at her, at the smooth blackness, and nodded. “Aim for the one with the canisters,” he said, short of breath and leaning to his side of the rubble guarding them as hissing and scuffling and gurgling drew closer. Acknowledging it, in one smooth move she had her rifle ready and aiming at the slowest, and largest, creature in the group.
He lit the fuse at the same time as she fired two shots at the gas tank. She pierced it and it started to leak but it was Dean who finished it, throwing two dynamite sticks, one right after the other. The resulting explosion was strong enough to bring down the adjoined pillars and the terrace they supported. Together with hisses and cries of pain, flame mixed with the Cloud brought up ash and debris, and covered the escape of the only two living creatures.
They scampered away, to a place where they could actually breathe.
“We need to finish them,” she coughed looking back around to chaotic dust swirl behind them, but Dean pulled at her, preventing any possibility of going back.
“We need to get away before more swarm the streets.” His tone was of one who had seen similar situation unfold and did not wish to stay for a closing act. For once, it brooked no argument.
She didn’t know if she could argue with that because she refused to believe that there could be so many of them surviving all these years, but there was something on her side, other than his hand pressed where her ribs would be were it not for protective casing, that burned and felt sticky and demanded immediate attention.
“The hologram works, doesn’t it?” He asked pulling her further down the alleyways he knew so well, despite constantly reinforcing how he wouldn’t be caught dead in this murderous part of town.
“Yes.”
“And it’s not going to shoot on us?”
“I don’t know.” She felt his grip tighten furiously, fingers digging in and pain lashing up through her side. “But it will on them.”
They didn’t have much choice and rushed in the direction of the hologram positioned in front of an archway, hoping that it would deter the creatures from following them. And if it just killed them on the spot, all the better. They rounded the corner, until they were in front of the holographic representation of one of Sierra Madre’s old security guards. It ignored them and Dean took them to a narrow gap leading inside of a building, and through several rooms, before helping her down on a set of collapsed stairs. From the outside they could hear the sounds of rapid laser fire and they both stilled, listening to the unfair fight and killing.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6b
Date: 2013-04-04 06:01 pm (UTC)“Unless they’re smart enough to locate the emitter and smash it,” she leaned over breathless, pressing her hand to her side.
Dean shuddered at the prospect. He couldn’t credit the Ghost People for doing that one yet. “And I was just starting to feel optimistic about our chances.”
“I’m… still very optimistic about them…” Guilty dropped her rifle and started to rummage through her pouches and bag with one hand. Dean, still keeping an ear out for any creature that might roll in their direction glanced at her before turning to her fully. Even the red glaze of the Cloud couldn’t cover the true crimson of fresh blood dripping across the yellowing mortar.
“They got you?” The often pretentious ghoul singer said it in such a tone that made it clear it was another hurdle on his way to Sierra Madre Casino he did not need.
“It’s not that bad. At least it’s not a bear trap. I’d hate to be the one to slow down your heist even further with hobbling.”
“At least you admit to it,” he stated, straight-faced as possible and with lips pressed into a thin line. They’ve narrowly escaped being dragged away like a couple of pups to a pound lined with handlers just waiting to skin them alive. Or stuff them in one of those suits. Whichever. Quite a time for her to crack jokes, underlined with sarcasm and insults of all things.
He rubbed the back of his head, rough, uneven, occasionally peeling. Not at the moment though so he ignored it.
“Have a look, will you,” she said, nudging him from where his thoughts have veered, and bent forward across the stairs exposing the injury to him. Dean had to kneel next to her and unroll the tear in the thinner material between padding of her armor to get a good look at the wound. From the offhand first glance the only thing he could tell was a red line across her flesh.
“It looks like one of their spears has gotten to you. I would need more light to-…” A bright beam shone into his face and he balked in surprise. She had thrown her arm across her head and the light of her pip-boy managed to reach her side just enough for him to examine it properly. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and fixed her with an annoyed expression before setting to task of inspecting it properly. He ran his finger around the dark bruise, barely daring to touch it so not to open it further. He couldn’t see much from the blood but the wound at her side was a long gash, swelling but a clean cut – from what he could tell at least, he wouldn’t call himself the expert though. “It doesn’t look like it’s gone in deep, but… you might have to remove the… top if I am to have a good look at it.”
Dean was not clumsy with words, he never had been. When he was the one to cut through the core of the matter with a sharpened tongue and oily words, it was with style and there was none alive who could dispute that. But in any other situation, the choice of his words could have gone pear shaped in so many different ways. And if he had become any judge of the expression she was likely to wear under that helmet, she might have – just might – taken it the way he had clearly not intended. What was that woman thinking?! Not at the time like this, and certainly not with her bleeding all over the floor!
Belatedly, she unclasped side buckles and took the heavy front of off her chest. With a muffled curse she pulled her shirt up to reveal her midsection and the gash, horribly bloody, darkening in color, possibly infected already and… Dean simply couldn’t help himself but notice the line of muscles, hard, clearly defined plates decorating her stomach like a chessboard, crisscrossed with pale scars, bites and burns. Her skin looked like it had been used as parchment for the life after bombs to write memories across. But beyond all that and so much in contrast to him, barring many scars, tanned and marked, her skin was smooth. Used for fighting. Used to killing.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6c
Date: 2013-04-04 06:02 pm (UTC)“With your wound hanging open like that, I’m not too keen on trusting just those. It’s my life that hangs on your pulse too, you know.” He didn’t know what came over him to say that. Well, survival was the first thing on his mind, naturally.
“Bloody selfish of me, I agree,” she breathed. “What do you have in mind?”
“We have materials to stitch you up, don’t we?” Indeed, in one of the small pockets of his belt he found and pulled out a lesser package of aid required for injuries more serious than what a stimpack could handle. He looked at the wound again, and blinked, wondering if he had just imagined or if the cut had narrowed somewhat.
“You know how to use a needle?” The helmet tilted to the side, and her voice cracked in disbelief drawing him back.
“Of course I do! I had to patch myself when the chems weren’t enough. Does it surprise you?” Though truth to be told… he wasn’t used to patching other people up. Sierra Madre didn’t allow for much in the way of alliances, even if they were temporary ones. He healed fast. For his flesh – sadly not his skin – a meager stitch was enough so long it kept the wound closed until regeneration kicked in. Proper sewing up of wounds was not something he needed to relay on often. Not to mention how fine detail had since begun to escape his eyes. Oh, he could still pinpoint a pair of glowing green dots in the distances sans glasses but, eh… She didn’t really need to know all that however.
“Given the environment of Sierra Madre, no…” she stared tiredly and sighed. “It’s just that ghouls don’t usually need to resort to patching themselves up,” she said, echoing his thoughts and confirming his suspicions, remembering Raul’s tale of surviving being shot at – repeatedly – before moving on to kill the assholes. She shook her head lightly. For all his talk of failing eyes and creaking knees, Raul had long ago came to grips with what he was, and by all, if he didn’t actually find some perverse thrill it.
Dean settled next to her, wiped the blood with clean gauze and bent over the slash, pressing the tip of the needle at one end. His other hand pressed against warm flesh – and blimey, her muscles had to be made of iron! – holding her down so she wouldn’t wriggle while he worked. He didn’t need to worry about doing some amateurish acupuncture; she seemed quite used to this kind of procedures. What had the world turned into out there, if this has become the norm? Living in Sierra Madre gave him a good idea, but Sierra Madre wasn’t the world and he had no other people to compare it to. Well, no other living people.
“You’re tougher,” she continued. “You heal faster and you can walk right down the irradiated interstate like it’s a walk in a deathclaw-free neighborhood.”
“Yes, which is why I look like I could use some extended ‘me’ time in a mud bath,” he drawled. “A fair trade off, to be sure.” He was clearly being sarcastic. “And if you’re going to ask me what a mud bath is – don’t. I’m not feeling particularly generous with sharing any more of my pearls of wisdom and bygone old world peculiarities,” he cut in immediately when her head rose up a fraction.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6d
Date: 2013-04-04 06:03 pm (UTC)Needle was suddenly harshly pulled through her flesh. “What was that?”
“Nothing that should keep you awake at night.”
His milky eyes narrowed, and a final pull of the thread might have been too much but helmet obscured any reaction. It did nothing for his mood – her lack of reaction, her constant, maddeningly even tone. It was as if she was deliberately trying to provoke him.
In turn, and ignoring the burning line of pain and the man only working on increasing it apparently, her eyes rested on the distant blue glow of the wending machine coming through the cracks in the wall. And such beautiful machine it was! Food, water, medicine, ammo… All for a price of one casino chip. And if there was one thing Vegas had in abundance – it was gambling chips. Perhaps the Casino held some blueprints of them. If not, she’d have to hop over to Big Empty once more, but it would be worth the trip if she could bring those to the Mojave.
“That should hold until the stimpacks kick in,” he said sitting back after he finished. His palms and tips of fingers were bloody and, without giving it much thought he wiped them of his trousers. The last handkerchief in his possession had run its course some twelve years ago.
“I wish I had that suit with me…” she whispered trying to sit up then. Any of the two. In fact, Big MT offered enough decent armor for any situation. If she only had access to the old hazmat suit she found in the testing ground she might have been able to pass as one of them even. As long as the mutation didn’t got to her first.
When she finally pulled herself fully upright she noticed that the stitches held, surprisingly and she glanced at him.
“What?” He asked. “You didn’t think I can do it? Or you didn’t feel a thing? I happen to favor the gentle touch.”
A gentle touch that hurt more than the cut itself.
“Nothing.” She wasn’t going to mention the phoenix implant certainly helped him along the way. “We need to move on, before they find us.”
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6d
Date: 2013-04-08 10:16 pm (UTC)but i'm really looking forward to reading the updates of this story! you've got me hooked so far.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7a
Date: 2013-04-19 11:57 am (UTC)Hope you enjoy the read!
:*.*.*.*.*:
In the subsequent hour on their way to the second terminal, Dean had noticed that the Courier had taken to lovingly perusing all the articles each of the vending machines they had encountered had to offer.
At least there was one thing about women that not even the bomb could change. He liked that. It gave him some solid ground to stand on in the world gone mad with change.
That wasn’t to say he wasn’t well aware that the world and people had changed. Madre sure has. And its inhabitants… don’t even get him started with that. The problematic thing was, knowing that people have devolved into wild tribal savages was far, far different from having to work with one. Having his life be tied to one of them. Dean hadn’t liked it when his life had depended on his chauffeur’s inane driving skills – how he managed to be on time, and in one piece, on half of his concerts will forever remain a mystery now.
And now, he was in position to rely on different type of chauffeur to get him from one end of the decaying deathtrap of a resort to the other. As her shadow slinked forwards, guiding him with that god-awful certainty he very much felt like he was a pet freshly brought from the store trailing at the heels of a much hardier survivalist.
Always at the front she was. The leading lady. The front line. The first one in. A good place to croak, in Dean’s opinion, so he wasn’t complaining – not at all!
…Much.
The same feeling he felt in the café coiled around in his belly like an iron chain. And iron chain with a ball and leashed to his neck.
:*.*.*.*.*:
Any encounter with the Ghost People was bound to be grisly already. Right now, and much to his chagrin, it had also grown in abundance. He warned her that too much noise would get them all stirred up, but did she listen? Of course not! In addition to having ridiculous fascination with vending machines, women never listened. He could easily believe that he was back at one of those cocktail parties with frilly feathers and enough opium permeating the air to stifle a mammoth.
Dean resented that analogy. And the one before that. In fact, he resented plenty of analogies he had been coming up with recently. She was giving him good material to resent too. Like now, how by all accounts – her accounts – the building with the second terminal wasn’t too far off, about one third of the district away, to the right and a floor up. She knew that because her Pip-boy had caught on an energy signal in that specific location. So she had explained to him with a jumble of words he’d likely need a dictionary but would still have to smile and nod in a polite society. He wasn’t tech savvy as he wished – bits and pieces that kept him alive – and he suspected that the postman had caught on to that.
“Finally,” the Courier exclaimed making a full stop so Dean bumped into her, a moment before digging forward ahead of him. Not hard when he was determent to walk behind, with his hands in his pockets, sulking silently but never admitting to doing so. “That took a while.”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7b
Date: 2013-04-19 11:59 am (UTC)“What took a while?” Was Dean’s befuddled response to a black armored shape diving off into the Cloud. He was still shaking off the green puss left behind by his latest encounter with death. He decided that he was wrong and that it wasn’t yearly but a decade worth of near death encounters that he had experienced since teaming up with her. Granted, it was forced on the part of the old boss man, but her presence didn’t help the situation any.
She attracted those things like manure did flies. Warmongering. That’s what it was.
There was a familiar click and rustling of old, weathered down leather accompanied by her voice, “Finding trinkets that should keep us on our feet for a while longer.”
Only then did Dean notice that her hands were elbow-deep in one of his old suitcases, lying around at key points he had precisely calculated in a case of an emergency, like an overeager child who couldn’t resist getting her fingers sticky. He felt a fume, a snap of something – might have been his nerves, a feeling of entitlement being stomped on, and not the first time now, and with the cigarette tossed in the air he growled out a frustrated hiss, moving quickly. One had to point out that here ‘quickly’ could be used to describe that ungodly speed ghouls tended to exhibit at the worst possible times – and slammed the suitcase lid on her fingers.
“Do you feel any particular need to put your mitts on all of my things?” He rasped forcefully, leaning over her. Dean wasn’t particularly tall, nor was the Courier short, but the tension made it feel as if he were towering over her.
He really shouldn’t have been surprised when a tip of a gun appeared right under his skinless chin – cold, round metal shape pushing intrusively between the hardened and exposed muscles; and a hand, and again his mind insufferably took the wheel and immediately noticed of the smaller size and surprisingly greater strength of her grip than he had previously anticipated, curled into his dusty jacket, but none of those strange comparisons had any place in his head now! – so close, possibly loaded and thus very threatening. Where she pulled it from, he didn’t even dare imagine; largely because the way things were going his imagination would come up with something rotten and not suitable for this situation.
“Do you have a problem with me putting my mitts on your things?” She asked after a pause in that even, and if his ears weren’t playing tricks on him, perhaps softer tone.
As a matter of fact, he didn’t-…
“I most certainly do! Do you think I enjoy having my personal space constantly trampled on?!” He snarled. No, it was a trick of the ear. It couldn’t be anything else. And if it wasn’t, then she was up to something.
Her hands, warm even under the glove, immediately came off of the torn revers of his suit, and that mysterious gun disappeared once more.
“Have it your way,” she said holding up a stimpack in one hand with a light twirl of her wrist and rolled up the torn side of her suit up, revealing the stitched gash. Guilty made a mental note to patch it up once she got the chance to do it. Or, if not, replace it fully. Because of the implant she had the prudence enough to install before heading to this ‘special kind of hell’ it was healing, but slowly and no thanks to the toxins in the Cloud. Guilty could positively feel the mist leech her life. “I’ll just barrow one thing then… if you agree?”
Dean turned away, eyes glancing briefly over the exposed skin still in several shades from formed bruises, muttering something about women being impossible, about her being impossible. Behind him he heard the familiar sound of pressure released when stimpack was used and had a miniscule, barely worth of mentioning, twitch. She did still sport a large wound, all stitched up by his not so expertly hand, and had used up all of her medical supplies to keep it from tearing open while on the move.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 7c
Date: 2013-04-19 12:01 pm (UTC)“You certainly went out of your way to avoid the other sections, didn’t you,” she said approaching him. Her voice had no trace of pain she was likely enduring. Miracle of drugs, or something such.
“Residential area always had the least amount of buggers. Which is not saying much considering they could still pack a theater,” he sighed, his tone deflated. Mood was bouncing all over the place and he felt like he was less and less in control of the situation. They went where she dictated – well, where the boss man dictated… she had proceeded to rob him of his precious few valuables. All of that contributed only to worsening his temper.
When he turned back he saw one Sierra Madre chip dancing across her knuckles. His eyes followed it, as the coin twirled and disappeared into her pocket. Not the first one. Not the last one, in fact. She probably had a full purse of those under her belt by now.
She started doing that after the light and gun show, collecting chips but not using too many of them; returning some surviving pre-war bits and pieces for more… Like they were made of gold, and she was at the height of a gold fever. A wheel clicked and turned in his head. Do they even have gold fevers nowadays? Does gold have any value now?
For some incomprehensible reason, these things bothered him. The way she held onto them. It made him paranoid. What will she do once they reached the vault? Perhaps she won’t reach the vault. Perhaps she’ll just open the vault and then…
“You sure came a long way to rob this place. I guess greed is in the blood.” She heard him say, interrupting wherever her thoughts may have gone. Acidic slime oozing from the chomped up limbs of ghosts couldn’t compare to his words.
Guilty was silent at first, mulling over the best suited answer – one that wouldn’t set him off like a powder charge.
“If this is about the Casino, I’ll say right now that I have zero interest in it. Feel free to keep anything you find in it.”
Building falling, behind them preferably, would have had less of an effect.
“Really?” He called with utter disbelief in his voice. She stopped and turned. As the night had fallen and the Cloud had turn from red to sickly purple, she was barely visible in her dark suit, and her helmet tilted down. It made it impossible for Dean to have any grasp of her possible reactions with it obscuring her face. In light that she refused to remove it even in the face of injury he had come to conclusion that she must do it to either keep him on his toes or because she had a face to make him appreciate his own appearance. “Why are you here then? I can’t imagine you stumbling your way into Madre.”
Other reasons… Although Guilty didn’t think Dean would show anything more than a passing, superficial interest in ‘when’ and ‘how’ and ‘that’s bloody why’ of her coming here, she choose not to elaborate.
“I knew Sierra Madre had a vault. I just assumed that it was a shelter from bombs, not a… depository. Guess I didn’t expect things to be this bad when I headed out.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted but as she kept quiet he turned thoughtful. “Partner,” he started, “people don’t come to Sierra Madre because of nice weather, beautiful atmosphere, generous locals or,” he pointedly looked at her, “to satisfy their curiosity.”
Courier’s eyes narrowed. He was sharp – for the most part. She was yet to decide what to make of that.
“You not believing me is not my problem, unless you decide to make it so,” she spoke softly and moved away, measuring steppes carefully. They had ways to go still.
Dean snorted, because he didn’t believe a word she had said. The Courier had displayed interest in the Madre, Dean didn’t miss things like that, and he was not about to let her get the better of him.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8a
Date: 2013-05-03 09:51 am (UTC)***
Whenever she looked up through the red fog at night, she could see faint glow of the stars. It was the easiest way to know the difference between day and night, pip-boy notwithstanding, because the shade, the tone, the light… everything remained the same. The same dull rust red that threatened to drive you insane.
So it was with eyes firmly set on weakly twinkling stars that the Courier wondered, where was the thunder coming from? On occasion, often when she least expected it, a thunderous clap would crack over her head making her muscles tense for a brief moment. Before Zion she had never experienced rain and storm. Thunder and lightning and storms not made purely of sand were a new experience to her but to her own surprise even, she had adapted to them quickly. Thunder-like sounds in the Madre had nothing in common with the sky cracking open in the canyon.
The moans were a whole different thing altogether. The screeching and something she could only describe as desperate cries of pain filled the air accompanying every twist and turn. She wanted to ask Dean, the oldest living resident of the Sierra Madre, where the hell was it all coming from but one look on the broken down speakers mounted on the walls, flickering and sparking in all directions was the answer enough. It was easy to be thankful that no living thing was letting out those screams. At this point she needed to believe that no living throat was capable of letting out those noises.
Her eyes swept over the street, the narrow terraces and musty, cracked windows. No traps, no Ghost People so far… they had an appropriate name as they seemed to appear just as fast as they have vanished into the fog. It clicked in her brain than that it had to have been Dean who had named them – who else lived in this resort long enough to see them grow from normal people to something only Big MT’s purely scientific imagination could produce. Two centuries in this place and flair for dramatics still hadn’t left him.
They headed forward, faster now as they approached the final terminal. And approaching the final terminal in many a roundabout way meant being one step closer to the Madre. This time around the activation didn’t need the overly complicated procedure the last one endured; only growing mistrust and doubt mingled with the anticipation in the air. There was no sofa for the ex-star to lounge on, and no awkward subjects were being spouted out. It was quick, it was efficient and before long a blue light of security hologram illuminated that corner of the street that led to the already near inaccessible roof with cut wires.
She paused, zooming in the map on her pip-boy and the markers Elijah had sent her. “I still have to escort Christine and God to their place, so you just sit tight and wait for the signal. With the holograms powered up you should be safe enough.” This was one third of the road done and one more thing to cross off of her list of assignments. Guilty rubbed her chin under the smooth surface of her helmet, already in her mind going through the possible routes she’d likely have to employ, abandon or just improvise. It was fortunate that the resort was relatively small, and that she had highly advanced map with trackers built in.
“Christine? Is that her name?” Dean asked – because he had to say something after a lengthy silence between them, or else she might think he was somehow acquiescent to her, and he couldn’t have that! – expertly ignoring any further mentioning of the mutant. “Of course, you can’t see it in posters but…” The helmet gave him the look. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that a black helmet succeeding in doing so. “…never mind. But uh… how do I know the power won’t suddenly go out? And… I don’t know, this still sounds risky to me. For me.”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8b
Date: 2013-05-03 09:53 am (UTC)“Far be it for me to tell you but…” the tone of voice she had adopted immediately put the ghoul on edge. It reminded him too much of a woman using a pretense hug as her hand slid down his back reaching for his wallet-… “Dean, a man with cold feet isn’t someone any woman would share her bed with.”
Had crickets survived nuclear blast, and if in some spectacular case they had survived Sierra Madre, they’d surely be supplementing the atmosphere right now.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked tersely, cigar out of his mouth and quickly forgotten under his heel. It happened a lot since they became ‘partners’ in this little heist.
“Christine. You wall-flowered away when she gave you the silent treatment, didn’t you?”
Muscles around the remains of his nose flared, and she knew that his eyes had narrowed as well. If there was one thing Dean Domino did not take light of, it was mocking. Now, an angry Dean was not a manageable Dean, but the Courier refused to try and placate him.
“There’s no need to spit fire and radiation. You got away scot-free and in one piece. Not many could say that after propositioning to an assassin from Brotherhood of Steel.” Who also wasn’t interested in men in any way, shape or form, but the Guilty decided that she shouldn’t crumb-stomp Domino’s ego too much. It might backfire.
“Brotherhood of what now-…?” He had no idea what she was talking about and it certainly had no bearing to-…“Assassin?!”
The black helmet and her shoulders shivered a bit in what he assumed was suppressed laughter – and so much worse for her if it was! – but she wasn’t about to elaborate further as the helmet sagged to the side. Regardless, he looked incredibly glad that nothing came of it his ill-timed proposition in the end. So much so that he didn’t even bother to hide that he had tried something to begin with. His focus was once more squarely set on the postman and the ridiculous insinuations she had been concocting.
“Let’s clear something up here. I am not scared. I never said I was. And you’re being ridiculous if you think so. I’ve played to worse crowds than this. I can hold the fort here.” Especially if it meant he’d finally get into the casino, and into that vault. “But listen… try and get in the Sierra Madre without me. You’ll wish you haven’t,” he leaned over her, all imposing-like, with a look, and a lowered voice, and promises of unpleasant things left hanging in the air. Things he could provide in the centuries past, when situation called for it.
Guilty paused, and she was not amused. He threatened her. He – a spoiled lounge singer who was lucky enough not to be killed outright by radiation and managed to survive in this little old world pocket of hell, was threatening her – someone who was born and bred into the survival-of-the-strongest reality of the post-war world.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8c
Date: 2013-05-03 09:54 am (UTC)Silently, she turned around to walk away and brought her arm up, switching between tabs on her pip-boy. It looked like she had come to some vital conclusion. Dean had noticed this too and when she quickly, not to say furiously, started typing across the keys he gripped her arm and brought the pip-boy’s screen to his face.
“‘Note to self: take off that poster of ‘King of Swing’ from the wall,’” he read in a little menu labeled as ‘NOTES’. These words piqued his interest immediately, and brought a sensation to his dissolute heart the kind he hadn’t felt in a while. He laughed, the previous tension shattered. “So they did survive, as well! And how’s that for a pleasant surprise? I didn’t picture you as a fan,” he managed between chuckles. She wasn’t. Patiently, and with great effort, she stayed silent but this news had brought amusement and heightened his spirit, so he pressed on in a most devious manner he could imagine. “Is it signed?”
Yes. As a matter of fact it was. And framed. And behind bulletproof glass. And Mr. New Vegas took liking to playing some of Domino’s songs more often than it was humane. But she wasn’t going to tell him any of that, oh no, because that would turn him from merely pompous to nigh insufferable. One was harder to deal with than the other.
“The previous owner of the flat had a thing for you, so don’t flatter yourself on my account.”
It didn’t help, because he did flatter himself. The world outside hadn’t forgotten about Dean Domino, not like they did Vera Keys. His fame might have faded, got trashed and buried under sand, and under general impression that he was dead, might simply be overlooked as the Old World curiosity. But he had not disappeared; the memory of him had not turned to dust and ashes. All right, so Danny Parker was among the bunch of surviving wall-stickers, but that bastard wasn’t alive now and he could do nothing to prevent Dean from tearing every single one of them on his track across the world – provided he chose to take some time off his busy schedule and waste it by doing so.
He grinned widely, not bothering to hide the satisfaction this news had brought to him. He looked at the postman, a woman wrapped left and right in armour thick enough to stop bullets, if not knives. The Courier had delivered him some great news indeed.
Scoffing but satisfied that the ghoul was pacified and would finally stay in one place, presumingly smoking like a chimney, Guilty stepped away from him and not looking back disappeared down the street and into the Cloud. When she got back to Lucky 38, and she was getting home, over Elijah’s and everyone else’s cold bodies if needed be, that poster was coming off of her wall. If Sierra Madre thought her anything, it was that the last thing she wanted was a grinning Dean Domino watching her sleep.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8c
Date: 2013-05-13 02:55 pm (UTC)By the way the usual practice is to make each chapter a reply to the 1st installment. I only mention this because in a long fill like this if you reply to the last updates instead of the first it will keep moving to the right and you risk disappearing off the edge of the page!
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8c
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2013-05-16 02:10 pm (UTC) - Expand